The reporter scratched his head. “You answered a question I hadn’t asked yet.”

Clair leaned forward and propped her head up on her fists, elbows on the desk. “What’s that?”

He gestured at the room again. “How you started this. Rather expensive endeavor, all things considered.”

Clair glanced up at the awards on the walls behind him. “The original idea, Georgie’s idea, was a foundation to help women like me get off the streets. She figured that was Jack’s intent all along and believed it was Jack that brought us together that night.”

“What about Jake?”

A knock at the office door. Clair was surprised as they knew not to disturb. “Come?”

The door cracked open.

“Speak of the Devil. Jake, this gentleman was just asking about you.”

“Oh?” The man slowly made his way in, leaning on a dark wooden cane. “What would you like to know?”  Jake had no hair left at all, just wrinkles.  He hunched over his cane heavily as he moved, creating the illusion of a question mark.

The reporter stood and shook Jake’s hand.

Jake dropped into the second chair opposite Clair before the reporter took his.

“Mr. Lambert, I am Tom Young from the Daily. We are doing an article on Clair and some of the history of the Jack and Jake Foundation.”

Jake grinned. “Oh yes?”

“I now have details of how Jack inspired this foundation, but was asking about your part.”

“Oh?” He turned to Clair. “You better answer, love. I’ve no idea where you are in the story.” Jake’s wedding ring twinkled as he reached across for Clair’s hand.

“Well, we used fifty thousand of that original money to start the foundation. When Georgie and I told Jake about what we were planning to do, he forked over another fifty without even asking what we would do with it.”

The reporter’s eyes widened. “Wow.”

“It was a chance to help the love of my life,” Jake smiled at the reporter.

“Jack?” the reporter asked.

“Yes, and Clair. We’ve been married almost eighteen years now.”

Clair glared across the desk.  “Jake?”

“Well we should have been married.  We’ve been living together that long, anyway.” The old man waved her off with a chuckle, and then pulled a hankie to cough into.

The reporter jotted down a note, “I did not realize. Your cancer?”

“Remission for fifteen years now. It took a turn for the worse right around Jack’s birth but I survived it,” he glanced at Clair and grinned.

“Jack’s birth?” the reporter asked.

Clair flipped a picture on her desk around for the reporter to see. It was Clair and Jake both beaming on a sunny day with their arms around a grinning young man in graduation garb.

“Jack junior,” Clair answered. “This foundation has been wonderful, but my son is Jack’s real legacy.”

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